


Vulgar

by Innaz (zanni_scaramouche)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Clothed Sex, Come as Lube, Frottage, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob Boss Harry, Oral Sex, Spit As Lube, Stripper Louis Tomlinson, the vague hint of breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanni_scaramouche/pseuds/Innaz
Summary: Louis works at a club owned by infamous Harry Styles, leader of the largest criminal organization this side of the country.It takes less than a month for them to collide.(2nd POV OS)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first version (maybe we can call it a rough draft?) of Louis and Harry's first encounter.

You’ve known him less than a month. Every few days you catch a glimpse of the back of his wild curls or hear the rumbling sound of his deep laugh from the office as you pass by. You were lucky to get this job, but it’s nothing less than what you deserve after years spent at the barre, and later the pole. The hiring process had been intimidating, not for the competition but due to the sharp cut of the suits they wore while evaluating you, the thorough questions, the high stress on loyalty. Some were run away by all this just for a job dancing in front of well to do men, but you could see what lay behind it. Who was behind it.

He’s interesting because he keeps it that way, your intrigue based on a facade of mystery he wears well. This is what you tell yourself. The truth is you want him. You don’t know how and you don’t care why, you only know you want full attention of those deep green eyes. Maybe you should be careful about it, this naked desperation of yours, but you’re not. When he catches your eyes he smiles slow and wicked.

It’s been nearly a month since he learned your name and started greeting you with sly smiles. Weeks of watching for him every time you went on the floor to mingle with posh society in less fabric than you sleep in. You’re not ashamed of your body, can’t be with this job, but on those rare occasions when you pass him by his eyes electrify every inch of revealed skin. They say he never sleeps with the employees, he’s off limits to touch or tease unlike the rest of them. You never see him twice in one night. You imagine being the head of the largest criminal organization on this coast brings quite a lot of work to do. 

Now it’s late, so late it’s early, and you’re returning to the change rooms for a shower before you head home when he catches sight of you from the other end of the hall. The stutter in your footsteps is small enough you hope he doesn't notice. You duck into the change room you left your street clothes in, running a hand through your sweaty hair and breathing out in relief as you have a moment alone. 

The reprieve is short lived. Without warning he’s there, closing the door behind him with hungry eyes on you. He crowds you carefully against the wall, leaving plenty of time for you to step away. It’s impossible. You’re frozen under him and he knows. He comes closer, his loose curls brush against your face, his hands firm on your waist to hold you in place. Only when he has you, with his breath on the side of your neck and the immovable weight of his body caging you in, does he speak.

“Louis,” he hums, “I want you, god do I want you.” He bites lightly at the sensitive skin by your pulse, “but I need you to be sure you want this too.”

The only thing you’re sure about is any chance you once had of walking away was gone the moment he said your name, so you swallow with a dry throat and nod your head. His mouth is searing hot on your skin. It moves in sharp bites and wet heat. 

You’ve never seen him outside of a suit, but there’s always been a wildness to it. The curls he does nothing to tame, the blunt way in which he speaks, the relentless focus of his eyes that pin you down without consideration for their intensity. He’s an animal wrapped in tailored threads. Yet the precise way he pulls your hips against his and runs a hand along you until it rests gently at the crook of your neck and shoulder, it all speaks to a measure of control you imagine only comes out when he’s fucking or killing. 

His hand is light where it wraps around your neck. Your pulse triples in speed. You’ve never been into that, never been into much besides the basics, but maybe you should think about it. You’re thinking about it. His fingers press lightly into the column of your throat, a tease of the strength you know he contains beneath dark jackets and blinding shirts, before his hand curls into the hair on the back of your head to tilt you up, up, and now teeth are sinking into your lips and you’re really fucking glad you let your hair grow out. He’s sharp and demanding, but still holding back. 

The last time you touched someone was a teenaged girlfriend, pleasant and sweet and you both laughed as you fumbled through it. The last thing Harry’s touch makes you want to do is laugh. Air is hard enough to push through your throat when there’s a thigh creating friction between your legs and you can feel the thick length of him. The wall behind you is uncomfortably cold and the searing heat of him on your chest causes you to ache, your body caught between two extremes and you don’t know where to pull away or push in. By the time his mouth has left yours and makes its way to your collar you’re trembling. He tells you to get on the ground. 

The floor is freezing. It brightens the world around you, a flash of reality spiking into this dazed dream. What the fuck are you doing, kneeling on the floor of your workplace in front of a man more dangerous without a gun than with? His hand is still in your hair. It tugs until you look up, up, up to his eyes and you’re gone again. Your hands find his muscled thighs and you watch in blown curiosity as they trail up and over the swell of him, pressing firmly against his dick through the layers. The feel of it under your hand is intoxicating. His eyes are dark, his head haloed by curls as he watches you fumble through the clasps and pull down the waist bands and you’re not watching his eyes anymore, you’re watching the fine line of hair from his navel down down down until, finally, his cock is inches from your face. There’s no denying what's happening, what’s going to happen, as he uses calloused fingers to leisurely stroke himself. Have you ever seen a better sight?

You’ve seen this before, on the tiny LED screen of your laptop and from the other side when your old girlfriend attempted. You can guess what to do and what not to do. You lick your lips and let him place the salty tip on your tongue, hot and heavier than you’d expected. Slowly you close your mouth around it, amazed that you’ve made it to this moment, and what’s more, you’re enjoying it. His hand cradles the side of your head as he slides in half way, slow enough that you could pull back if you wanted, but you don’t know what you want, so you let him sink deeper.

How has no one told you what this feels like? How possessive his hand is in your hair, how much you need to concentrate on breathing and swallowing and keeping your teeth covered and despite that you’re twitching in your tight pants like you’re seconds away from coming in them. You keep one hand on his thigh and press the heel of the other into your crotch for friction. 

He slides out long and slow, shallowly thrusting and you're caught by the drag of him on your tongue. Your eyelids flutter. You can’t stop the moan or the hand you use to work yourself. You forget everything you’d just been trying to focus on to stay alive and get lost in the feel of him filling your mouth over and over. His pace quickens, the hand in your hair tightens. Spit is running down your chin in a way you can’t imagine is attractive and there are tears and your nose is running and still every time your eyes clear long enough to see he’s staring down at you with an unwavering focus that makes you feel naked and vulgar, so you hide behind your lids.

“Look at me,” he commands and you can't open your eyes fast enough, the green of his irises swallowed by his pupils. “Fuck, Louis.” 

He pushes in so far you choke, panic flaring in your chest before he pulls away so you can breathe, one long gasp before another as he strokes himself, watching. You wonder if the heat of the moments passed, if you’ve screwed it up. But he’s still got a hand on his dick and your mouth is starting to feel strange, like it’s empty and misses the hot weight of him, and you’re quite positive there’s a wet spot on your crotch where your dick is absolutely throbbing. You don’t realize the whine echoing in the small space is coming from you until it cuts off with a ragged breath. You feel desperate and messy at Harry’s feet. 

“Up.”

You stagger against the wall, using it to support you as he crowds in once more and yanks at your small briefs until they’re halfway around your thighs and your cock is finally free and achingly hard. You choke on your breath when he unceremoniously wraps a hand around you, and you can’t look away from where he strokes you in thorough pulls. His hand is tight and rough. Skilled where it swipes over your sensitive tip. When he stops it’s only to press his hips in closer, lining up against you, and he spits to ease the friction. There are two words left in your vocabulary, a curse and his name, and you alternate between them with your hands fisted into the fine threads of his shirt. 

When he leans in close and sucks near the back of your ear it’s like he knows it’s all you needed because you’re gone, absolutely shattered as your abs clench and your balls tighten and your coming all over the two of you. He uses your release to slick the way on his own dick and you’ve never seen anything hotter or dirtier and you’re already praying you never forget the image of it. You're still pulsing with aftershocks as he finishes between you with nothing more than the sharp sound of your name on his lips. 

You’re at a loss of what comes next. You’re the cuddling kind, but you’ve never had sex not near a couch or a bed and he’s already pulled away. If you try to stand without the wall your knees would fail, so you stay put and let him lead you, just as he has since he walked in the room. The touch of silk on your stomach is a surprise you flinch at, before realising it’s just Harry. He’s coiled his tie around his hand now he’s meticulously wiping you down with the prompt strokes of a doctor. He helps you tug your pants back up. The curls near his forehead are a bit damp, his cheeks perhaps a little flush, but his shirt is tucked in under the jacket he’s already slid back into and he looks the same as he always does. Proper, if a bit wild. You try to remember what your name sounded like when he came. 

You don’t know if you can meet his eyes, if you should, what you should say, if you should say anything. He takes care of it by pressing in for a kiss so long and savage you lose yourself. The line of his body against you feels solid. Demanding. With a heavy hand gripping tight at your waist and the other on the bare skin of your ass he takes and takes. He pulls away, brutally, all at once. 

“I’ll see you next week.” 

And he’s gone like a phantom, not even his footsteps heard. You’re still catching your breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story continued in PART 1 of the Vulgar Series! Check there if you want more. 
> 
> Find my super cool graphics on tumblr  
> https://zanniscaramouche.tumblr.com/tagged/v
> 
> PS are you listening to Niall's new album?? Boy has some true bops, go stream now!


	2. Chapter 2

Please visit PART 1 of the Vulgar series for a continuation of this story if you are interested. It can be found on my Zanni Sacarmouche dash.

*First chapter of it is similar to this OS, but there are a few minor tweaks you might wanna give it a go again.

Happy reading! xxoo -zanni


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